Remember
by hollywar
Summary: The vision came when she was focusing on regulating her breathing, ears on high alert for wandering footsteps, eyes closed. It was if suddenly after being alone for all this time, someone was panting right along next to her. Tears trickled down her cheeks when visions of angel wings and crossbows fluttered through her thoughts.


**Remember**

She saw them with it. And she recognized it.

…

Waking up, coming to or whatever the stupid doctor had called it, had apparently been some sort of twisted miracle. Pretty near impossible, was the way they explained it as they went on to tell the story. How they'd hauled her sorry ass out of that trunk, as grim as it had looked. Hooked her up to beeping machines and opened her skull, poking around in there as if she was an experiment gone wrong.

At first she'd been scared; she didn't know where she was, didn't know _who_ she was. She'd spent the majority of her time in the beginning trying desperately to calm her racing heartbeat, squash the anxiety that threatened to control her impulse actions. Her throat muscles constricting with pent up _something_.

Then, eventually, events would suddenly reappear in her brain. As if they had been there all along, as if these scenarios she closed her eyes and witnessed had actually happened to her.

It's a strange feeling, to believe you're crazy. Honest to God crazy.

She hated that word.

They lied to her for a long time; allowing her to feel _that_ way. The doctor, the only one who dared to enter her room, he'd told her more than once that due to the extent of her injuries he couldn't say for certain that the memories she was experiencing were fact.

They told her she was alone when they saved her.

They lied.

And then she found out.

"What?" She had asked, eyes wide and head throbbing under the weight of the new information she had just absorbed; eavesdropping. She didn't leave her room much, even on her own accord, but the information she'd just overhead made her head spin and her vision drown.

She hadn't been alone. Not even close. Apparently she had a whole group who had tracked her back to this very hospital – a group the hospital staff was absolutely petrified of.

They had only glanced at her and gave her a shot of something that knocked her out when she became unmanageable, but they weren't aware. They didn't know that the induced sleep she had been put into gave her even more answers than she had been hoping to receive from them.

She remembered _him_, and that was enough to begin her plan.

Whoever _he_ was.

…

She waited until she had more to go on than just a loose idea of who he was. What he vaguely looked like. What he somewhat sounded like. Waited until her own mind began to accept the exercises she'd been teaching herself, desperately trying anything she could possibly think of.

Sleeping worked sometimes, other times it didn't. Sometimes she would be sitting in her bed and visions of him would float through her thoughts as if he was standing there right in front of her. Other times, she couldn't see him at all. Sometimes she couldn't even remember him – sometimes she wondered if he was a fragment of her own imagination.

If he was some sort of hero that she _wanted_ to be real, but wasn't.

Then, one night she'd woken from a dream. She wondered – was it a dream? Was it a memory? She couldn't be certain, but she also couldn't stick around here any longer. They didn't make her do chores like the others she was in the same blue scrubs as, and she wasn't allowed to leave her room if not attended anymore.

She ate her dinner in her room on her bed by herself. She started collecting the plastic forks they carelessly offered.

…

As she ran, she wished her latest memories would disappear as well as her past ones had.

The scene of the bloody eyed doctor would be permanently seared into her brain, the offending object that was sticking out of his face coming from her own palm. And her body had moved so quickly, she'd felt like maybe she had done this before – like maybe she could and would actually go through with her plan.

Although, her plan ended at escaping.

…

No one came for her, or at least if they did she had somehow escaped them for now. She'd decided as she was running out of the hospital and into the decaying remains of urban culture that she would never return to that place.

Not alive.

Shacks, cabins, abandoned cars; they were her solitude when she'd finally escaped the concrete jungle. Where she could rest her head and maybe close one eye.

And it was difficult, to be running through unfamiliar terrain, the plastic forks she had collected were diminishing; she'd been worried about the trail of them all the way from the hospital. Sometimes she tried to pull them out of the eye socket of the decaying mess, but most times it freaked her out too much and she would shutter and continue on.

To where, she was unsure.

…

Visions.

She had a lot more visions since she left the hospital.

She had visions of a huge place with lots of people, lots of resources. She had visions of a baby, and sometimes she could almost feel the weight of the unnamed baby in her own arms. As if that baby belonged in her arms.

Yet, her body held no confirmation that she was ever a mother.

The visions were sudden and uncontrollable. They would strike with a searing pain coursing through her skull, ricocheting bullets. She would clutch her head, squeeze her eyes shut and try to take in everything she could.

Sometimes they would come at bad times, and the visions would be playing in her head while she was using one of her quickly dwindling plastic forks as a weapon. And other times when she willed her brain to just work itself out already, nothing would come and she would get numbly frustrated.

It felt like she had somewhere to be, somewhere to go. Some_one_ to catch up to.

She just couldn't remember.

…

The plastic forks were gone.

She'd used the last one two sunsets ago; she'd lost count of the days she'd been alone. So far she had been pretty good at slipping away, into the cover of the trees with her newfound attire. It was easier to blend in with your surroundings when you weren't wearing bright blue scrubs.

It was yesterday that she had decided that she was going to find something. She had no idea what that _something_ was, but she needed water desperately and the case of peanuts she had rationed since the hospital was becoming scarce.

Turns out that something was train tracks.

She didn't leave the cover of the trees for hours, and somehow it felt like a trap. Which unexpectedly brought on more visions, and she was sitting at the base of a tree with her hands over her eyes for much longer than she should have, desperately trying to connect all the pieces.

But the pieces would never come, she was sure. Not on her own and not until she got where she was going.

If she ever did.

…

Whenever she remembered something, she made a point to stop and retain anything she could. Travelling along the tracks made this a little difficult, but she managed.

Barely, but she did.

She'd found a torn little notebook that was weathered and foul smelling, tucked away in an open trunk that had been so obviously strewn about. But she always made sure to jot down anything she could remember, going back through the pages to remind herself she wasn't _crazy_.

Somehow.

…

She'd been in a particularly dire situation, ankle twinging in agony she couldn't ever remember injuring as she made her way through a patch of overgrowth, when it happened. She had been running for a good while, and she was painfully out of breath when she collapsed heavily into the tall grass.

The vision came when she was focusing on regulating her breathing, ears on high alert for wandering footsteps, eyes closed. It was if suddenly after being alone for all this time, someone was panting right along next to her. As if she was lying so closely to someone she could feel the heat radiating from their skin. She could feel the tall grass tickle her cheeks, but she wasn't sure if it was a memory or real life.

The tears that trickled down her cheeks when visions of angel wings and crossbows fluttered through her thoughts, were foreign.

…

She wondered, with her plastic forks gone, what she could find to use as a means of survival.

Did she even know how to use a weapon? She had absolutely no idea, but even if she could find a house that had a butter knife left over. She would feel better with a butter knife than nothing, so that's when she decided she needed to follow the tracks to some sort of town.

Trains used to stop in towns, right?

…

She saw them with it. And she recognized it – somehow.

"Hey!" She yelled, the sound of her own voice foreign. She couldn't remember the last time she had spoken out loud to herself. It had been even longer since she had spoken to another person.

The couple on the motorcycle whipped their heads to her, eyes wide. And she hadn't seen herself in the mirror since she had left the hospital but the large bandage around her head must have left her looking like one of those walker things.

She recoiled at the weapons drawn on her, but she pushed forward because this must be him, right?

As she stepped out of the foliage, she knew. She could just feel it.

It wasn't him.

…

"Who're you?" The man on the bike nearly spit at her, looking around the trees as if she had come with thousands of soldiers.

She wished she had.

"Where did you get that?" She asked, because she couldn't answer his question even if she tried, pointing to the crossbow that he had trained on her.

His eyes narrowed.

Maybe she shouldn't have shown herself like this; maybe this was the end of the road for her.

"How are you alive?" The woman asked, and Beth's eyes were slow to lift from the crossbow. Her head hurt, and nothing made sense. She'd seen that crossbow in her visions before, but the man himself wasn't wearing it.

What did he look like again?

"Maybe I'm not." Beth replied, and she wasn't trying to be smart or funny or however else they may have taken it. She honestly didn't know. Nothing was making sense right now and the towering trees were beginning to sway.

…

She woke in a dark room.

A filthy, long haired man was looking at her as if he was petrified; as if he'd seen a ghost. He didn't say anything, but he didn't divert his eyes either. Their eyes stayed connected for a long while.

"Who're you?" She asked, unsure. This man in front of her had the features of the man in her visions, yet his appearance didn't add up. He was too thin, his eyes too sunken in. The dirty sweater and baggy pants weren't in her visions. Where were his wings?

He recoiled immediately at her question, pulling his knees closer to his chest. Dropping his eyes to the cement floor; refusing to look at her.

It was silent for a long time. He didn't move, and she wondered if he was still breathing.

…

"Why won't you talk to me?" She finally snapped, what felt like days later when her stomach growled for the millionth time. She was agitated. No one had shown up since she'd woken, and the man had pushed himself into the furthest corner away from her.

His eyes – it was his eyes.

His gaze didn't waver, as her eyes began to roll back into her head.

...

He panicked.

"Beth!"

She knew the voice – could almost see the face. Who was Beth?

She sat up with a start, clutching her chest, desperately trying to slow her breathing. The man, who had just jumped away from her like he had been burned, was watching her with wide eyes. Like she was some sort of wild animal that he was terrified of.

Maybe she was.

"Beth." She whispered the name, catching eyes with the man as she rolled the name around her tongue. It sounded so familiar her head ached – yet it was still so foreign she couldn't recognize it. This man, who was once again pushed back to the far corner, had called her Beth.

Was she Beth?

Her head hurt, and the man looked sick.

…

"Don't."

It was the first word he'd spoken to her intentionally. First time he'd even willingly turned his head to glance at her. He seemed content to look at the wall in front of him – his self-control impeccable.

The plate that had been thrust under the door to their cell smelled rank, but she'd reached for it regardless. She couldn't even remember the last time she'd been offered food, and her stomach was in blinding pain.

She gave him a look, and somehow he answered her question with a nod. It wasn't food – at least not for humans. She wondered if their silent communication meant – and _understanding_ the silent communication – that they had done this before.

She reluctantly reached for half the sandwich, watching the man as he shook his head, unable to watch.

…

"Who're you?"

She froze, because it was the first time she'd heard another voice besides her own since she'd woken up here. She wasn't even really sure where _here_ was, because the cell was dark and she'd been in and out of sleep since arriving.

And she held her breathe, because his answer made her feel things she didn't understand – couldn't piece together any sort of memory that made sense.

"Daryl."

There was a commotion, footsteps, and then she could faintly see someone being pushed into the cells bars.

"Just say you're Negan. Just say it! I don't get it, why are you doing this? Just say it!"

Then the man was being pushed violently back into the cell, and she was being dragged off the floor by her armpits. She struggled for a full moment before she could get her feet underneath herself, glancing heatedly towards the man who was on the floor, looking as if someone punched him in the gut at her struggle.

The man she'd encountered out in the woods had her in his grasps, throwing a picture at the man on the floor before he cranked up the volume on a speaker right outside the cell door.

She watched on in panic as she was escorted away, before darkness fully covered her vision, the piece of fabric foul smelling. She wasn't sure why she felt a strong connection to the man in the cell. Wasn't sure why she could feel his pain in the middle of her chest.

…

"You got two options."

Then there was a sort of commotion and the fabric was being ripped off her eyes. She was thrusted by her shoulders to sit in a chair in front of a large mahogany desk. The man sitting behind the desk looked untouched by the outside world, and he looked excited at her presence.

Then he was standing and pacing, and she was pretty sure that he was stroking a baseball bat with barbed wire on the end.

Somehow, she knew he wasn't a good person.

…

She felt sick to her stomach as the man with the burned face deposited her to a cell.

An empty cell.

What she had just been asked to do – what they had just suggested was the _right_ thing to do made her empty stomach recoil, and it didn't take long before she was retching in the corner. They'd told her that as long as she wouldn't comply, she would be fed dog food sandwiches and treated as such. Locked in a downstairs cell with no sort of communication, music blaring.

Desperately trying to keep something in her stomach, she laid on the foul smelling floor, resting her forehead to the cool cement. They'd ripped the bandage off her head, and pulled at her matted hair with a fine toothed comb. One of the other _ones_ had done it, what they were suggesting she become, at the leaders command. She'd smelled of vanilla and musk, apologizing quietly when tears fell down her cheeks, trying to be as gentle as one could around a hole in someone's head.

Memories of a petite blonde woman brushing through her own soft locks made an appearance, but she willed them away because right now she needed to figure out how she was getting out of here.

…

The man who pronounced himself as Daryl was being thrown back into the cell, his face swollen and bleeding. She lifted her head off the floor, caught eyes with him and nodded worriedly towards him.

Having this man back felt comforting, for reasons she couldn't explain, and she was about to speak to him when he was pushing himself the slightest bit closer to her. She watched with half lidded eyes as his sharp ones moved around her head. The half buzzed, now combed blonde mess.

She put a hand over the area she knew he was staring at, feeling self-conscious, and he diverted his eyes immediately.

"It hurts." She admitted in a whisper, not sure why she felt the need to tell him, when the man hadn't spoken two words to her since her arrival in this godforsaken place.

He was pulling off his sweater before the words had even fully left her mouth, pressing his back firmly to the concrete wall as he offered it to her with an outstretched arm. And she took it, smiling weakly at him before she fell into a fitful sleep.

…

When she woke, the man was shivering.

She immediately sat, ignoring the pain that shot through her skull, handing the sweater back to him. He took it after a moment's hesitation, nodding to her before he shrugged it on. And she suddenly was at a loss for words, because she'd connected eyes with him again and she felt some sort of connection.

"Daryl." Her own voice sounded hollow, and she didn't miss his flinch at her use of his name. He looked at her, his swollen eye clenching in agony as he nodded at her, confirming. "Beth?"

She watched as he dropped his head, eyes hidden beneath his length of greasy dark hair. He rubbed at his chin a few times before giving her a curt nod of his head, not looking at her again. She watched on as he dug at his fingertips, and she could've hugged him, would've if he didn't look like he would self-implode at any given second.

"You're him." She said, to which his head snapped up to hers. And she felt so light all of a sudden that her head wasn't hurting and for the first time since she'd woken up at the hospital, she felt _calm_. And she certainly wasn't in the right environment to say she was calm, but that's how she felt.

Like she had _finally_ connected even the smallest piece of the puzzle together. She was _Beth_, and he was _Daryl_.

"You're him." She repeated herself, aware that he probably thought she was absolutely insane, sliding down the wall and placing her temple on the cool cement. "You're him."

…

It must've been hours later when she looked back up at him, only to realize his eyes had been trained on her the entire time.

"They took your crossbow?" She asked, rolling over so she could place her other temple on a cooler surface of the floor. His eyes didn't waiver from hers, even as her shirt rid up and she just _knew_ she was right in her revelation – this was the guy who littered her flashbacks and visions.

He nodded, shifting so his arm rested on his drawn knee. His voice was merely a grunt, but she felt herself inwardly smiling as he responded. "Bastards."

…

She groaned, opening her eyes. She hadn't witnessed him sleeping since she arrived, probably due to her own harrowing sleeping schedule, and this moment was no exception. Her head was pulsating when he slowly moved his eyes to her from the wall.

And maybe his gaze should feel intimidating, but for some reason she didn't feel that way. And with a shattered brain, maybe the only thing she had to go by her intuition anymore.

"I can't be his wife." She admitted in a whisper, lifting her head off the ground and situating herself on the opposite wall from him. He looked stricken at her words, but nodded in agreement with her.

It was silent for a long time, and his voice was rough when it finally penetrated the silence. "Gonna figure it out."

She tried to give him a reassuring smile, but failed.

This time when the man with the half burned face came to get her, she didn't miss the look of trust that passed between the pair in the cell.

She trusted him.

…

When she outright refused to change into the ridiculous, skimpy black outfit that was presented to her, the leader who declared himself as Negan had grabbed her by the hair. And she'd nearly let her yelp of pure agony before she clamped down on her bottom lip, begging herself to find any amount of self-restraint she had left within her.

She was strong. She needed to be.

_I am strong._

And as Negan threw her to the floor of his study, images of herself in the hospital filtered through her vision, flashbacks of lollipops, cops and scissors.

…

He wasn't there when she was thrown back in the cell, but she didn't mind because the abuse her head had just endured, she wasn't sure if she would've been able to stop herself from crying if he'd been there.

She placed her affected temple on the cool cement, gagging as the foul smell hit her nose. She willed herself to sleep, in hopes the pain would subside when she woke.

…

Her eyes opened, blearily, and she panicked.

Her breathing picked up and she scrubbed at her eyes, pain searing through the back of her head where Negan had grabbed a handful of the blonde trusses that still existed. She often wondered while still at the hospital, when she had time to think about things that minuscule, if she would someday wake without vision.

The doctor who she'd stuck with one of her plastic forks had told her more than once she had been extremely lucky in how the path of the bullet ripped through her skull. It had missed mostly all important organs and vessels, other than the medial temporal lobe in which the bullet had scalped by, which held her previous memories deep inside.

She hadn't _felt_ lucky, at the time.

Finding the man in her visions by herself in the wilderness, with nothing other than plastic forks to protect herself in the damned apocalypse, now that was something she could consider lucky.

Willing her eyes to finally focus, she immediately pushed her back against the opposite wall as she realized someone was gazing in the cell at her.

"Hi, I'm Sherry." The woman announced quietly, as if not to spook her. Which was an absurd thought while lying on the filthy floor of a cell, but she stared back at the woman with hard eyes. She was undoubtedly sent here by the ring leader, and she refused to partake. "I'm here to help."

Her eyes narrowed and the woman standing on the other side of the cell sighed.

…

When Beth was returned back to her cell, her legs were raw and her head was pounding.

She was shoved in the darkness, her eyes not able to adjust for an extended period of time – just another thing that the hole in her skull affected. She felt her way to a wall, slowly lowering her bottom that was on fire to the floor. That Sherry one had been sent to help alright, and by help she meant hot wax off every hair on her body.

Just another stage of becoming a _wife_, Sherry had explained to her, and through it all she laid there wondering just how this man had figured out how to successfully gain these spineless followers. Followers who called themselves Negan – followers who often risked their lives for their 'Savior'.

As they pulled hot wax strips off her inner thighs, she'd decided that she would _never_ be a wife.

She'd rather die.

"S'wrong?" His gruff voice startled her, and she clenched her eyelids a few times before her eyes would adjust fully to the darkness of the cell.

She shrugged, unaware if he could see her or not, but he didn't press any further. She wasn't about to complain about something as stupid as waxed legs – not when her focusing eyes could see how swollen shut his left eye and brow was. "Where were you?"

He shrugged back, hand going to his chin. "Alexandria."

She thought about that – tried hard to wrack her scattered brain for any sort of confirmation that _Alexandria_ meant something to her, but drew a blank. The word meant nothing to her, and she looked back at him with a shrug.

"Y'wouldn't know." He explained, looking extremely uncomfortable as he shifted in the corner he sat. And she wanted to scream at him how he _knew_ this and she didn't. She wanted to get on her hands and knees in front of him and beg for the answers she'd been searching for.

She held her composure, looking at him, hoping he would continue. He didn't, and she fell into a fitful sleep.

…

"Beth." She woke up to him forcefully but carefully shaking her shoulder, the name still awkward to her own ears.

She jumped up on reflex, grabbing her head as the motion sent her vision swirling, and leaned into the hand that clamped down on her shoulder to steady her. It took her a full moment before her eyes would adjust, and the swipes she made at them were frustrated.

When her eyes finally focused and their gazes met, his was heated. She silently thanked him for giving her the time she needed, fixing her stance and waiting for whatever would happen next. It didn't take long before he was showing her a little bundle in his hand.

A key, a match and a note that clearly stated _'GO NOW'_.

Her gaze was wild when she looked back at him, and he rubbed his chin a few times before he shrugged, going to the cell door. She watched on with her heart beating wildly around in her chest as he pushed the door open with a slight creak.

He looked back at her, nodded, and then he was gone.

She didn't hesitate to follow.

…

She was positive that if anyone was near, they would hear her heart pounding in her ribcage.

It was taking all of her to not think about what was going to happen – what they were undoubtedly walking into as they weaved their way through the long tunnels of _wherever_ they were. She followed him without a second thought, glancing over her shoulder every few seconds to make sure they really were alone.

"_I ain't leaving you!"_

When her eyes snapped opened again she was practically limp on Daryl's back. He was trying to look at her from over his shoulder, his face screwed into a confused scowl that she understood made a lot of sense in their current predicament.

Relapses – that's what she started calling these visions that floated through her head that suddenly stunted her ability to perform even the smallest of tasks. Like walking, and she'd so obviously face planted in the middle of his back, and her cheeks flared.

"I ain't leaving you." She whispered out loud, she could immediately feel the way the muscles in his back constricted, and he was looking at her as if she had just sprouted three heads. A look that she couldn't possibly take the time to figure out right now.

He nodded, disentangling himself from her when he realized she could stand on her own. "C'mon."

…

There was nothing graceful in the way they dug through the peanut butter jar with their hands, ramming the useful and needed sustenance down their throats. It was the first time in a long time that she was eating anything other than stale bread with what was presumed to be dog food, and she greedily licked her fingers when she passed the jar back to him.

He took another huge handful, passing it back to her before disappearing around a corner, reemerging moments later in different clothes with some sort of steel pipe. She nodded at him before throwing an old hoodie over her bare arms, grabbing a pair of scissors that were harmlessly laying on the desk.

She didn't fully understand the scowl he sent her way, but she tucked them in her hoodie pocket before following him to what must lead to outside, with sunshine pouring in under the cracks of the door. He only glanced back at her once, before opening the door and going outside.

He didn't seem to stop, but her eyes clamped shut at the offending brightness outside had to offer. She would be absolutely useless until she could get her vision under control, which took much longer than she wanted it to.

"Woah! It's cool." Her bleary eyes opened, and she fought through the pain that shot through her head. It wasn't his voice, and that meant there was a threat. She stepped closer to the voice, glancing around with her spotted vision trying to regain her footing. Even if she couldn't see, she _had_ to help him, could feel panic rising in her chest.

"I swear! Buddy, you can walk right out that back gate there, and I won't say anything to anybody. I'm supposed to be there now, but, listen… I'm… I'm just trying to get by, just like you. Please?"

She watched on with dots in her vision as he attacked the fat man – wondering the whole time how he had managed to stay plump if they'd been fed dogfood for their entire stay – blood spewing, his grunt angry with every downward swing.

In the corner of her returning vision she spotted a stealthy man run into sight, his eyes wide as he watched Daryl beat the pulp out of the lard. She didn't hesitate to step forward, carefully avoiding Daryl's backswing to grab the pistol hanging out of the dead man's pants.

Her hand wobbled as she pointed it at the long haired man, the surrounding air once again quiet as the sound of cracking bones and gushing blood came to a slow halt. It was then Daryl stood, stepping beside her and shaking his head.

Somehow, she immediately understood and dropped the gun to her side.

…

She couldn't ever remember feeling something as freeing as sitting on the back of a motorcycle, cool air whipping her hair around at the back of her head. Arms wrapped around narrow hips, squished comfortably in the middle of the two men.

Whatever series of events had just happened, she was thankful they had.

Daryl didn't slow down for a second after escaping the back gate, like the fat man had suggested. He'd gunned the engine and then there was no stopping them, even if there were shots that rang out behind them. There was no way they would've hit them, not with the way he was carefully maneuvering the bike from side to side as if this particular situation had happened to him many times before.

She felt truly free for the first time since waking up at the hospital, and even after they finally stopped the bike and hid it in overgrowth while they got their bearings and relieved themselves, she still felt like she was on cloud nine.

Until they began discussing her as if she wasn't there.

"I thought-" the man with the long hair started, eyes wide open in surprise. "Didn't-"

"Yeah." Daryl confirmed, running his hand through his greasy hair, his voice sounding frustrated and confused. "Yeah, she did. She _was_."

"Dead, you mean?" She asked, walking fully back to where the men were, putting her hoodie back on after taking if off to relieve herself. And she didn't let her face show that for some reason she was hurt to know _he_ had thought she was dead.

Then again, she thought to herself, it wasn't everyday someone survived a headshot.

Daryl's face became suddenly angry, and he was on his feet and in front of her face in seconds; but she wasn't afraid. No, for some reason, unlike the man they had just narrowly escaped, she didn't fear the man in front of her.

Maybe she was an idiot, but she squared her shoulders and didn't waiver.

"You _were_ dead, we all thought you's dead!" He yelled, his face red and his eyes sharp. Gosh his eyes, they were absolutely haunting. She willed herself to continue listening to him and not get lost in her own head. "We just – we just _left_ ya there Beth!"

Oh.

She watched on dejectedly as he stormed off, the steel pipe he'd used to beat the guy not long ago in his grip. She couldn't understand anything that had just happened, couldn't understand why his screaming match directed towards her felt awfully familiar.

Her head hurt, and she put a hand on the concaved temple.

She turned to the guy with the long hair, choosing to ignore the sudden damper his outburst had just created. "Who are you?"

"Jesus." The man nodded, giving his welcome. "I live at Hilltop, actually with-"

"She don't remember shit." The voice that they thought would be well into the thickets by now was rough and sharp behind them. And she looked at him, hoping to catch his eye but he refused to look at either of them as he climbed on the bike, only giving them a second to clamber on before he was revving the engine.

…

They stopped again, but this time they could clearly see a huge wall in the near distance. The man behind her jumped off quickly, sharing a knowing nod with Daryl before walking off. And not for the first time she wondered what was happening.

Everything she was experiencing was so new, even if her body moved in a way that she didn't recognize. She clumsily made her way off the bike, patting her inner thighs that felt raw and chafed under her jeans, refusing to acknowledge him when she felt his eyes on her back.

"Beth."

Anger flared within herself – days of no food, his outburst, her aching head and keening skin from her hips to her feet – they all contributed to her actions as she whipped around to face him. Her finger pointed to his chest on its own accord, stalking closer to him but never meeting his gaze. "I may not know shit, but I _do_ know that I made it."

"And I may not know shit, but I figured out they were lying to me at that hospital and I got myself out." He looked ready to hightail it out of there, but suddenly she couldn't get herself under control. "I may not know _shit_ but I-"

"Beth." More urgent this time, and she somehow got her breathing under control and miraculously stopped the tears that threatened to fall over her lids.

"What?" She yelled, furiously crossing her arms and meeting his gaze. She repeated herself at his silence. "_What?_"

"Y'walk in that gate," he started, dropping his gaze from hers when she refused to look away. "An' everyone'a them is gonna be rushing at ya."

What? Who was _everyone_ and why would they be rushing at her? He continued while he began pushing the bike towards the massive gates in the near distance. "They ain't gonna know you don't 'member."

"Wait." She stopped where she was, in the middle of the road where she could now see people milling around behind the looming gates. "Wait… I don't…"

"I know." He reasoned, eyes dropping from hers to his feet. "Y'got family."

_Family_.

_She_ had a _family_.

The last thing she saw before her vision went completely dark, was his puckered brow.

…

She woken to a commotion, in a bed she didn't recognize in a room that wasn't familiar. Her limbs felt lead weighted and her brain was foggy.

_Family_. Daryl had told her that she had _family_.

She could remember the visions she had of the baby, an ache in her heart that didn't make sense because she clearly couldn't imagine a face. Couldn't remember any faces, other than the one she had already gotten to know.

And Jesus, she reminded herself as she rubbed at her eyes to push away the remaining speckles of darkness that permanently skewed her vision.

"What do you _mean_ I can't go in there?" An indignant woman asked, her voice muffled through the door of the bedroom she was inside. And she felt her throat constrict – where was Daryl? And why was someone trying to get into her room?

"'Cause she don't know ya!" Another booming voice erupted, one she recognized and breathed a sigh of relief. She remembered the conversation she had been having with Daryl, outside the gates; he'd only been trying to warn her. This she understood, was grateful for.

Back when she had originally left the hospital – this had been the outcome she had been praying for. And maybe at some point in her journey alone, she had come to the terms that she most likely wouldn't find anyone, and she would eventually succumb to her own injuries. A person could only sporadically lose consciousness so many times before a walker would be at the right place at the right time.

Finding _him_ let alone the family she couldn't remember; it was almost too much.

She pulled the blanket up to her neck, gingerly raising a hand to the concave temple. For reasons unbeknownst to herself she felt safe in that very moment, even if the conversation on the other side of the door continued to escalate.

"Then how come she knows _you!_" The woman's voice was clipped – upset.

There was silence for a long moment before another man's voice floated to her senses much calmer and much softer.

"This ain't helping anythin' right now." Beth could tell that the voice that had just spoken must hold some sort of authority, and she couldn't ever imagine Daryl backing down from anyone. Not after the way she watched him beat the man outside of Negan's Compound. "We gotta take it slow with her. Without Denise…"

She heard someone clear their throat, agreeing with the unknown man. The voice that spoke, she wished was inside this room with her. "What's the plan?"

Someone took a heavy breath. "Let her come out on her own, I'll let everyone know. If we push too fast…"

"Okay." The woman quietly relented, her voice carrying a tinge of something Beth couldn't clearly understand. "Okay."

…

Hours later there was the faintest knock on her door, before it opened and closed just as quietly. She could hardly hear the persons tread on the carpeted floor, and somehow wasn't shocked to turn and catch him with wide eyes.

"Hi." She offered, sitting up in the bed and willing her vision to fully return.

He nodded, sitting in a faraway chair in the corner of the room she had spent the last few hours mentally memorizing. And to say he looked beside himself would've been an understatement, which instantly sparked her own anxieties.

She waited, watching him until he collected his thoughts – something she noticed he did before talking, most times anyway. When it wasn't an angry outburst.

"Y'passed out." He offered, and she almost smiled.

"It happens, sometimes." She agreed, trying to keep the smile out of her voice. Now was not the time and he looked like he hadn't slept in weeks. Like the weight of the world was pushing down on his shoulders and his shoulders only.

"Been keeping 'em out." He confided, playing with the scruff on his chin. He at least looked showered, and although he still seemed much too thin to be the man in her visions, his skin didn't look as pale as it had in the cell.

"Thank you." And she really was appreciative. She'd laid in the bed for hours after initially waking up, trying miserably to connect any of the puzzle pieces that seemed to float around her thoughts. All with jagged edges that didn't line up, voices and faces she couldn't place.

Beth continued to look at him, gathering the courage she needed to ask her next question. Why was he the one in her visions? This question made _sense_, right?

"A baby." She started, but hesitated as Daryl's sharp eyes landed on hers. "I – I remember a baby. Was… did we?"

He looked stricken at her question, and she could feel her throat closing with emotion. "We never."

"Oh." She whispered, embarrassed that she had read the situation wrongly, trying to ignore the hurt that didn't make sense at his lack of explanation. At his strong insistence that they had _never_.

His face twisted uncomfortably as he ran a hand through his beard.

"'Is a baby, not yours." He offered, looking at the door as if he wanted to be any other place than sitting in this room with her. She couldn't understand why all of a sudden his demander had changed so drastically. "Raised her like she was, though."

Beth gulped, unable to ask any further questions.

"She's here." He confirmed after a moment's hesitation, and she glanced over at him gratefully. Maybe she couldn't remember anything from before, but she _did_ know that a baby surviving in this world wasn't exactly probable.

She was desperate for any information that would help right now, but knowing the faceless baby she had envisioned; perhaps even before she envisioned him was safe, was relieving. A weight off her shoulder she hadn't even know she'd been holding.

"Thank you." She nodded at him, trying to seriously convey how grateful she was to him with just a look. For some reason, none of that made any sense because they had _never_; so how could they communicate with the smallest of gestures, the slightest of nods.

"Didn't do shit." He argued as he stood, opening the door without a glance behind him.

…

It was dark before there was another soft knock at the door, much different from the last knock she'd had.

"Hi." A woman with short grey hair stopped in the doorway, one hand on the knob and one holding the tray of food Beth assumed must be for her. "Gosh – it's _true_."

She felt all kinds of awkward as the older woman made her way into the bedroom, and Beth watched her closely with half lidded eyes. She didn't know this woman from Adam, but she seemed kind and the tears that sprung to her eyes made Beth yearn for her lost memories. This woman so obviously knew her, and they so obviously had a past that she couldn't recall.

"I'm sorry." The woman immediately began to apologize as she began fluttering around the room, acknowledging that her behavior was making the younger girl squirm. "They said you couldn't remember but… but here you are, Beth."

Not for the first time that day, she tried desperately to connect any sort of memory to the face she was looking at.

"I – I don't…"

"It's okay." The woman quickly interjected, waving a hand as if to say forget about it. "I'm Carol, and you saved me. That's all you need to know right now."

Beth was astonished – she didn't really have anything to say to the woman who was fussing with the tray she'd just laid in Beth's lap. Her body didn't particularly feel like it was capable of _saving_ anyone.

"I'll let you eat." The older woman smiled, eyes still full with unshed tears as she blinked a couple times. She paused at the door, and Beth wondered if she would say something else that may piece the puzzle in her head together. "It's so good to see you, Beth."

She left then, leaving her to her thoughts and the meal on her lap.

…

It took her a long time before she realized that she could just get up and walk out of the door, after she had taken her time in using the bathroom attached to her room.

She'd chastised herself, wondering how someone like _her_ could have possibly saved the nimble woman that had brought her the tray of food earlier in the day. She felt pathetic – like she hadn't been made for this type of world.

Like she was on borrowed time.

She made quick work of turning the corner and finding the stairs, drawing everything she had learned on the road by herself as she dismounted the creaky planks. It took even less time to find the door that undoubtedly lead to outside, and she paused as her hand fell on the knob.

There were no plastic forks in sight, she thought bitterly, until images of the high walls she'd seen for herself that afternoon came back to her. And then she berated herself for not remembering something so important in her current situation.

Turning the knob and pushing outwards, the door softly collided with someone's boot, who let out a low grunt. She could instantly smell smoke, and she inwardly cursed as she could feel her own consciousness slip away.

"_Let's burn it down."_

When she returned to the present, Daryl was looking at her with a confused expression, cigarette hanging loosely from his fingertips. And he turned to throw it away as she carefully made her way fully out of the house, shutting the door behind her quietly.

She wasn't sure why he sat beside her on the concrete stairs to the house, but she didn't let herself question it either because sitting right here, this is the best she's felt in a long time. A full stomach, scrubbed pink skin and combed hair – a bed to sleep in upstairs. _Safety_.

No, she hadn't felt this kempt since she'd left the hospital. Then why did she have this sinking feeling deep within herself that something wasn't right?

"Couldn't sleep?" His voice was thick as he spoke; Beth hadn't expected him to speak at all.

"No, I –" she paused, looking around the place they were in. It looked untouched, as if this little nook of the world had somehow been sheltered from the events the rest of the world endured. "This place, it's…"

"Stupid?" He asked, propelling himself forward and off the stairs to the house.

She nodded, agreeing with that as he strode off from her, pulling another full cigarette from his vest pocket. He stayed close enough to hear her whispered voice, but far enough away that he wouldn't blow smoke in her direction even if she didn't care a little bit.

"Like maybe it's too good to be true?" She shrugged, not intentionally asking him anything although he nodded his head in agreeance with her.

It was silent for a long time, and Daryl finished his second smoke as he shuffled his feet in the gravel of the driveway until he finally offered. "Should get some rest."

She hadn't realized she'd been staring at him the entire time, and for reasons unbeknownst to her, she could feel her cheeks heat. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable today. I just…"

Beth trailed off, not able to fully articulate herself. She wasn't really sure where she was even trying to go or what she was trying to say to him – all her thoughts were so jumbled. One big tangled mess in her web of thoughts and lost memories.

"S'okay." He saved her from her own misery, turning on his heel and nodding to the guard tower. "Gotta go."

She nodded, watching his wings as he disappeared in the dark.

…

If he was surprised she had followed him, he didn't act like it when she sat beside him on the bench inside the guard tower. He hadn't even moved his head at the sound of her entrance; his hearing far superior from even her own.

There were a few walkers roaming as she glanced out the open wall facing the front of this safe zone. Nothing serious by the way the shotgun was settled on his lap, which sparked another question she wasn't sure if she could ask. His crossbow has been such a predominant piece of her broken memories.

So she didn't; she stayed silent, hoping for some reason she didn't understand that he wouldn't tell her to leave. She couldn't imagine walking into that house and closing the door behind her, couldn't imagine trying to lay down on a _bed_ to sleep.

His eyes were sharp as she turned her head and unexpectedly met his gaze.

"I didn't know what my name was." She revealed, watching the emotions that played over his face as she shrugged her shoulders, turning again to watch the rolling fields as she continued. Not sure why she felt compelled to tell him the thoughts running through what was left of her brain. "When I woke up. At that hospital."

She noticed he quickly turned his face downwards, his hair falling in his face. A strange urge tried to overcome her, and she just narrowly missed reaching out to place a hand on his back as he slouched over, elbows on his knees.

"But I-I…" She wanted to continue, she really did, but the tightening of Daryl's knuckles made her uneasy – not scared. No, she wasn't scared of him, which proved she'd probably lost her mind along with that bullet. "I remembered you."

She heard his intake of air, the uneven pull into his lungs.

"Bits of you." She reminded herself out loud, pulling her knees under her chin. It was cold out here in the open guard tower but she would never complain. Not when she'd been out in those same trees not long ago roaming with the walkers, her stomach threatening to cave in on itself. "I couldn't _really_ see you until I found you."

It was silent for so long that Beth thought maybe he had wordlessly got up off the bench and walked off. She didn't dare look at him, and kept her eyes planted on the lone walker that continuously banged against the wall just below them.

The man sitting beside her made her feel things she didn't understand – had never felt before as far as she knew. It's not like she could remember if she had or not; not even sure what she _was_ feeling.

"Why?" His voice was strained and clipped when he responded, what felt like hours later. He stood then, violently gripping the handrail of the guard tower, stepping back and away from the bench they had been sitting on.

She shrugged her shoulders, not able to answer his question even if she wanted to.

…

When she walked back into the house, she came face to face with a green eyed woman.

The woman, who looked quite a few years older than herself paused her movements at the sink in the early morning, the sun hardly thinking about rising.

"_I thought Maggie and Glenn would have a baby."_

Beth cursed as she began picking herself off the kitchen floor, the woman looking down at her with the widest eyes she'd ever seen. Looking as if the woman was about to yell for help, Beth quickly intervened.

"I'm okay." She nodded, putting her hands out in front of herself as if to calm the spooked woman that stood in the middle of the kitchen. "Really."

The nod she got from the woman was short, before she returned to the sink, back towards Beth.

Was this woman a part of her past family? And why was she acting so hostile? Was this _Maggie_? She was afraid to ask.

She took comfort in the silence, leaning against the counter that connected to the sink where the woman was working. Washing dishes, Beth noticed, at an ungodly time of the morning. Unsure why she felt like this was the right this to do, she bit her lip.

Without word or a glance in Beth's direction, the woman held out a wet plate. Beth didn't need instructions as she grabbed the plate and dishcloth, standing soundlessly beside the woman as she continued to wash while Beth dried.

She smiled, catching eyes with the woman who gave a small smile in return.

…

She wasn't sleeping when she heard the tiny knock on her door, and raced to answer it. The face she saw was behind the door admittedly wasn't the face she was looking to see. The man seemed to notice her hesitance, and gave her a comforting smile. One she actually believed was good.

"I'm Rick." He introduced himself, his hand resting on his pistol more out of habit than anything else, but he quickly removed it when he realized she was watching him cautiously. "We met… uh, a long time ago. In the beginning."

The beginning. She thought about that long and hard – she couldn't remember a time when their current situation wasn't reality.

He sensed her confusion almost immediately. "I came to let you know breakfast is ready. Then we're having a group meeting."

She nodded, she had been preparing herself for this.

…

After the meeting was held about their current situation, Beth could feel her head beginning to float. Like she couldn't possibly take in all the information she had just learned. Her vision was swimming, and her head was sharply aching as she stalled on the bottom of the staircase.

People she didn't know milled around, leaving the house one by one as they thanked Rick. The guy who'd shown up at her bedroom door that same morning, the one who'd just painted a picture of mankind she never thought possible.

She clutched her concave temple, bracing herself.

"_No matter what happens, we'll deal with it. We have to."_

"Hey." A gruff voice broke through her fog filled thoughts, the tug on her elbow an indication to her that she would've hit the floor without the hand grasping her forearm. "Y'okay?"

She quickly nodded, feeling her throat constrict with emotions, unable to catch his eye.

"C'mon." He countered, pushing her easily up the stairs as her feet began to work on their own accord. And she couldn't fully breathe again until they were both in the bedroom she'd been staying in, the door closed soundly behind them.

Daryl looked down awkward as she quickly sat on the edge of the bed, trying and failing to connect any of the pieces together.

To say she was frustrated would be an understatement.

"None of this makes sense." She whispered, allowing him to see everything as their gazes connected, not trying to hide the terror and confusion she knew resided within herself. "I-I don't…"

"I know." He reasoned, sitting at the desk that was across from the bed she was sitting on.

She nodded, pressing a tender hand to her temple.

…

They were back in Alexandria – or arriving for the first time, in her case.

She was sitting in her newly appointed room, the window overlooking the town as she watched people mill around outside as if this was normal. Walking around as if walkers didn't roam the earth, and people like Negan didn't exist.

Alexandria was similar to what she'd learned had been Hilltop, but larger with more resources. She was learning one thing after the next, and she has excused herself when the woman she knew as Carole began to fetch things from the _running_ refrigerator to begin making some sort of meal.

Her head hurt, and all she desperately wanted was everything to make sense.

"_You're going to miss be so bad when I'm gone, Daryl Dixon."_

…

"Why didn't you tell me that we were together?" She asked, ignoring the other two men that turned to look at her as if she had sprouted three heads.

His glance was steely as he nodded to the other men who stocked away from the fence, going back to sticking walkers in the head with the long weapon he wielded. But she wasn't scared; his ignorance fueled her frothing temper.

"Answer me, goddamn it!" She yelled, ignoring the way his grip tightened and the next walker went down with much more force than needed.

"The fuck you wanna know?" He yelled back, dropping the long stick with what looked to be an arrow head attached to the tip, getting in her personal space. He smelled like toothpaste and musk, a scent that was so familiar to her that she wanted to rip her own hair out.

Why couldn't she just _remember_?

She could see people watching their interaction, trying to seem busy but failing.

"Y'wanna know how I led us right into that trap?" He yelled, running a wild hand over his face, face growing red as his anger continued to build. "You wanna hear how I watched'em take you away?"

"Yes!" She yelled, not backing down from his towering stance. "I wanna know _everything_!"

He ignored her, picking up the discarded weapon as he promptly ended the conversation. She turned on her heel, not glancing back.

…

The soft knock on her door that came late at night didn't surprise her, and she opened the door to let him in without second thought.

"I'm sorry." She immediately began, wringing her hands in anticipation. She had been way out of line this afternoon; a conclusion she'd come to not long after she stomped all the way back to the house where she was staying. "I just get so… _confused_."

He nodded, leaning against the closed door. She took it as an invitation to continue.

"I had a vision… a memory?" She laughed humorlessly, her voice sounding clipped to even her own ears as she desperately tried to articulate herself. "I… I said you'll miss me, when I'm gone. And your last name, it's Dixon."

To Beth, it looked like Daryl had gone three shades whiter. He nodded, unable to provide anything other than a short nod of his head.

"It's like I'm a fly on the wall." She continued, realizing he was unable. "And it's like I'm looking down on… memories I guess. Except everything is blurry and nothing adds up to one full story line."

It was silent for a long time, and when she finally had the courage to look up from the floor she was surprised to see Daryl looking at her.

"It's true."

Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "What's true?"

He already had the door open, making his exit quickly. "I missed you, when you was gone."

**FIN**


End file.
